You're Not Funny

I was at work today. Because that's what adults do (or so I'm told). I was working on a gentleman who was not so gentle at all, or rather, his words weren't gentle. He kept saying every two minutes"Are we done yet?" like it was the funniest and most clever thing he's ever heard. And like it was cute. Hey, hot shot. It's not cute. It isn't. It bothers me. Because I have a job to do. Because you don't understand what it's like to have to do something that majority of the general public has come to dread. Because you've already made it clear by your complete lack of dental hygiene that taking care of your teeth is not something you put very high on your Priority List in life. And answer me this, of the two of us in this room, do you honestly believe you're the one that wishes "we were done?" No. I am the one that desperately wishes "we were done" so that I wouldn't have to clean out that 8 mm pocket on the distal of 30 that's packed full of pus and last night's dinner. Got it? So, how about you zip it and let me do my job so I can stop courtesy laughing at your ridiculous and unoriginal "joke." Bless your heart.

And speaking of food, what is it with people thinking it's OK to come to the dentist with a mouth jammed full of their last meal? I mean, c'mon! I went to clean a lady's teeth today, and as I am looking around in her mouth, I noticed these orange, fleshy things caught between her teeth--all of them.

Me: Did you have cantaloupe before you came to your appointment today?

Patient: Oh. No. I had a carrot and some orange juice after I brushed my teeth.

Oh. OK. Wait. No. Really? You picked the two things out of thousands of foods that are infamous for getting stuck between teeth and you eat them AFTER you brush your teeth before coming to the dentist? Stringy carrots and orange pulp. Seriously. What a genius. Hey, I have an idea lady. I think we have some chicken in the break room. I'll just go stick it in a blender and let you mash on that for awhile so that I can pick it out from between your teeth, too. Sound like fun? This same patient went on to ask me about "grills" and how much they cost. Lady. No offense, but you do not fit the demographic description for a "grill." Case closed. Period. The end. So, don't even worry about it.

My sister-in-law texted me the other day. She lives in Boise. Her text said this: "Rachel. I just went into the public bathroom at work and a lady was in the stall talking on her phone! I immediately thought of you." I really hope Ashley thought of me because of my blog, and not because she grouped me among people like Bathroom-Stall-Chatty-Cathy? No, no. I'm pretty sure it was because of my blog. Right, Ash? Ash? I asked her if the lady at least washed her hands. But Ashley didn't stick around to find out. Good call, Ash. I wouldn't have, either. And you contacted the right authorities: Me.

Until next time...;)

Accolades--D.C. Style

This post is dedicated to The Rosenbaum and Nichols' families:

My husband and I recently returned home from a trip to the east coast. We spent the week in and around the Washington D.C. area. It was great. It really was. But, may I just say that prior to our adventure I was convinced that most of the world's "crazies" were packed into the upper left hand corner of the United States (i.e. Washington State). WRONG. Dead wrong. There are plenty of obnoxious people residing on the opposite side of the good ol' U.S. of A. Like I've always speculated, idiocy is a pandemic! Let me elaborate (because you know I'm gonna):

1) This is crazy man number one. We encountered him on our very first ride on the Metro system into The "District." That's right, a bunch of white, sheltered west coasters riding a big subway for the first time and this guy shows up. I spent majority of the trip looking straight ahead as to not draw any attention to myself (or my family). I wasn't convinced that he wasn't hiding a pistol in that Mickey Mouse Fantasia-style warlock cap. Oh, his sign? He was protesting the border scandal that is currently causing all sorts of chaos in Arizona. Although, we couldn't be sure because he had "border" spelled as "boarder." So, he could be protesting the skating industry for all I know. Makes more sense with his clothes and all. Personally, if I had my own protesting sign, it would be arguing his fashion crimes: white socks with "man-dals," Joe Boxer smiley faces underpants worn OVER shorts, and his tie dyed t-shirt. Also, that may or may not be a Cabbage Patch doll head or a mop hanging over the top of his sign. We never could decide (remember, we were too busy pretending not to stare).

2) My sister-in-law and I counted not one, but two, women wearing at least 4 inch heels as they were touring the sights and sounds of our nation's capitol. Incredible. There they were, hobbling along, clearly in pain as their strappy stilletos dug deep into the tops of their feet. But who cares? They looked good, right? Ladies, let's be real. Nothing looks more ridiculous then when trying to be fashionable rather than practical especially when your surroundings were screaming "comfort" and "functionality" rather than "fashion." I should know. I used to be one of you. You and I both know that your feet do not FEEL good even though you think they LOOK good. Your feet are bleeding for pete's sake! Arlington National Cemetery does not care if you have stilettos on. Most the men are buried in the ground anyway, and I'll guarantee you they're laughing at you from their graves. Bless your hearts.

3) This next story is my favorite of the week. On Wednesday of our vacation, we crowded onto the Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland to watch the ever-so-entertaining Blue Angels fly (along with thousands and thousands of other people). It was hot. Scratch that. It was sweltering. Humid. And have I mentioned it was disgustingly hot? I have very fair skin. A friend of mine once called my complexion like that of skim milk. Nice. So, naturally, I had an umbrella up and around me to shade my poor white body from burning, or worse, tanning. That's when I felt it. A tap on my left shoulder. I turned around to behold a woman screaming over the noise of the flying jets. "Do you think you could put your umbrella down? It's blocking the view!" Oh, the view? You mean the one straight up in the sky thousands of feet above the silhouette of my umbrella? You mean the hoards of people standing in front of you (many of which also had umbrellas) and the two giant trees along the bank of the river weren't already blocking your view? Oh, it was solely my umbrella stopping you from enjoying the show? Well, in that case, let me say one thing: Get over yourself. And, I have a suggestion. How about you take a half a step to your left and magically, your problem (i.e. my umbrella) would no longer be your problem at all. This same lady was later heard excitedly saying, "Oh! This is my favorite formation!" Lady, be honest. How many times have you seen the Blue Angels? Weirdo. And next time you ask me to move it, you're going to get a big, fat "NO!"

4) Picture this. A big family (in every sense of the word) sitting atop a double decker tour bus, tearing pages from their tourist maps and letting them fly off the back of the bus over and over again because, after all, it's hilarious, right? Go, America! Idiots.

5) Foreigners. I have mixed emotions about them. My husband has always jokingly called me Hitler, although it's not funny anymore ever since we visited the Holocaust Museum on our vacation (and in fact, I never did find it all that funny in the first place). But I do have a problem when people from other countries come to our Capitol and don't listen when the tour guide says, "Pictures of the Pentagon are prohibited at this stage of the tour." And then I look over to see a french woman doing what? That's right. Taking pictures of the Pentagon at this stage of the tour--over and over again. Hey! Lady! I don't care if you ignore tour guides in your own country! But listen up when we say you can't take pictures of the Pentagon! Got it?! It has to do with a little something known as September 11, 2001. Sheesh. At first, I thought it was because she didn't understand any English. And, then I knew it was because she didn't know any English. Point proven.

6) And if you thought my last story was harsh, just take a gander at the photo below and you'll know I am not opposed to taking criticism myself. That's right. My brother and sister-in-law snapped this picture. That's me (the oblivious looking one on the left) and my hubby (the really oblivious looking one on the right). If you look closely, that little blue handicapped sign above our heads reads: "Priority Seating." Of all the seats available for us to choose, we picked those two. 'Nuf said. Oh, and we laughed pretty stinkin' hard when we realized what we had done. Until next time ;)